Idle Hands
by TheMusicLives
Summary: Having one's hands brutally chopped off can make you think about all they've done. Post ATS episode "Damage," but Spuffy centered. Spike POV, narrative, ONE-SHOT.


**A/N:** This is something that I woke up with this morning. My BFF and I watched the "Damage" episode of Angel last night and Spike's hands were on my mind. She thinks this is boring, but I'm gonna post it for ya'll anyway. Hopefully reaction will be better here, where Spike is most loved. Spike's POV, un-beta'd (except for the BFF) and my first foray into the BTVS/ATS universe. Please enjoy. :D

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Idle Hands

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Hands.

They were composed of eight fingers and two thumbs. Connected by a palm, they became something that could hold, touch, or caress.

Spike felt disconnected from his own, now. After the crazy-flakes maybe-slayer had hacked them off in connection to one of her delusions, they were temporarily no longer his. Once severed they became easier to consider, lest one adored the burning soul that usually accompanied such ruminations.

It was almost easy to consider all the sinister things they'd done. Staring at them now as they healed, he tried to remember why he wanted them back. The reasons why he'd be better off without them were many.

The blood that covered them. The evil they'd performed. The pain they'd caused innocent lives.

That psycho bird had called him William the Bloody. Once it was a name that brought him great pride, that had struck fear into the dead hearts of others like him. Now it was now just another knife that cut. His own silent chest felt heavy when he took the time to think of all the anguish he'd relished in causing.

It was a definite improvement over how his lack-of-life had been. When he'd first gotten that soul he'd been determined to have, he'd experienced his own hell. It had made quick work of driving him insane. At least now he could turn the burning on and off, allowing moments of clarity in the mist of guilt.

Driving him to the reason why he'd gotten the soul in the first place. Of all the pain he'd caused in his lengthy time on Earth, hers that would always be his greatest regret.

It brought him back to remembering that these were the hands that had touched her. His hands had bruised her and fought her, had caused damage that she shouldn't have forgiven him for.

They were also hands that she'd held while they writhed together or that held her during that last year together while they fought side by side. When she'd finally needed him for something other than his hands.

It wasn't only his hands that would always be hers.

It was hard to remember the last time they'd touched. The memory was marred by the burn, by the charring of his own flesh as her hand joined with his. By the heaviness of the quiet organ in his chest when it accepted it's end was coming. An end that would always be linked forever to her.

He'd done what he'd mustn't to be hers. He'd met his final death as hers. He'd spent the most meaningful three years of his existence knowing that his love was hers. In the end she tried to gift him with the knowledge that she was his as well.

Of course she'd wait until the end. That was Buffy; she'd run headfirst into the most dangerous of situations without a thought, but loving him back? Spooky enough to tell him at the last, to accept it at the last, when it was too late for them. When time had actually run out for someone who'd lived forever.

He kept hearing in his head, Andrew asking if Buffy knew. Saying that Buffy knowing Spike survived their Hellmouth goodbye would warrant at least a conference call. That he could tell the woman Spike loved that he was still on the same planet as she was.

As if it would make a difference considering the geography. Considering where their lives were now and the time that had passed.

His hands had thrown back so many glasses of dizzying liquid over her and what would happen if she'd discovered his continued existed. They'd thrown punches and broken bones, but the pain was nothing to the indifference that he imagined when he thought of telling her.

It was why he hadn't.

In a way, he was grateful to have been tied to the bloody amulet that she'd given him. It kept him from going after her and making a complete soddin' fool of himself.

She'd lost him and gone on. William the Bloody couldn't stand to lose _her_ again.

It was a Slayer's nature to work through the worst and come out the better for it. He could only hope to have been one of those worsts that so positively affected her.

He'd never deserved her, but maybe his love could be part of something, could give her strength that would keep her alive. His afterlife had filled of nothing but havoc, but it had meant something to her in the end.

In that end, he'd begun to atone for the work of his hands. The memories of which would always darkly define him and motivate him to change that definition. Perhaps he could be worthy of his hero's near-death if he made the coming back count.

His hands may never again hold _the_ girl, but they could save others so she wouldn't have to.

And that's the story he'd like to leave for her. If she ever found out he made it out of Sunnydale, he wanted the works of his hands to make her proud to have known him.

Maybe then she could remember them fondly instead of for the damage they'd done. To herself and others. The lives his hands had taken would forever be a cloud over his head and his heart. His soul would always be covered in their blood.

But his hands would heal. It would take time, but they would repair themselves eventually. Might as well make good use of them once they had.

It was time to stop living in the past painted by blood and sculpt a future from the ashes.

Idle hands are the devil's helpmates after all.


End file.
